


The Approach

by maebyrutherford (maeberutherford)



Series: The Right Hand [12]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Budding Love, Childhood Friends, F/M, Sailing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-27
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-05-09 19:59:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5553389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maeberutherford/pseuds/maebyrutherford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of The Right Hand series: After the Inquisitor breaks his heart, Cullen tries to move on by serving as Cassandra’s Right Hand.</p><p>Cullen makes the journey back to Skyhold to visit an ailing Tara.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Approach

**Author's Note:**

> Contains implied vomiting - I really didn't want to add that to the tags. Nothing graphic.
> 
> Edited by fatally-procrastinating, for my Patreon reward.

Fereldens didn’t tend to be a sea-faring bunch, and Cullen was no exception. He despised being on ships and avoided them whenever possible, but in this situation it would be far too impractical to take the long way around.

When he’d left Kirkwall with Cassandra to join the Inquisition, he’d never sailed the seas before and assumed it wouldn’t be much different than ferrying across Lake Calenhad to Kinloch Hold. Oh, how wrong he’d been. He had spent much of the trip losing what little food he’d been able to eat. Now, a little older and a lot wiser, he held a tiny but potent wad of herbs against the inside of his cheek and felt the fresh air and sunshine on his face, fixing his eyes on the horizon.

And the best improvement of all: Sylvie at his side, her curls dancing jubilant on the wind.

“I don’t know, I still feel a little unsure about this,” she was saying. She turned to face him, brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I don’t regret coming along, but are you _sure_ it won’t be weird? With me there?”

“Well, it’s not like we can exactly turn the ship around,” he teased, doing his best to appear serious.

She took the bait, her brow furrowing. “Are you saying it _will_ be weird?”

Cullen laughed, reaching for her shoulders. “Sylvie, I was joking. There’s nothing to be concerned about.” He grew serious, watching her bite her lower lip. “This isn’t a social call. There won’t be awkward dinners or tea and crumpets. I’m going to… pay my respects. That is all.” He gave her shoulders a gentle squeeze. “It’s entirely possible you won’t even see Tara. I imagine they’ve got her on bed rest, if her condition is as bad as Leliana implied.”

Sylvie seemed to mull it over. “But shouldn’t I also pay my respects? After all, she _is_ the Inquisitor, and someone you care about.” Before he could respond she shook her head, tapping her hands on the ship’s railing. “No, I would probably make her uncomfortable, and that’s the last thing I’d want to do.”

Her effort at putting Tara’s feelings before her own endeared her to him, and it only confirmed his impulse to ask her to join him. He stepped closer and tucked his fingers under her chin, guiding her face toward his.

“You are a part of my life now, and perhaps it’s selfish of me, but I want you by my side. But only if that’s what you want.”

All at once he saw and felt her relax, and she nodded, an easy smile spreading on her lips.

“Guess I’m just a little nervous. Truth be told, there’s no place I’d rather be than here. With you.”

Everything vanished; it was just the two of them underneath the vastness of the wide open sky. He leaned forward to kiss her, his eyes drifting shut -

“There you are!” Varric called out, striding over from the stairs that led to below deck.

They both sighed, backing away from each other.

“Gorgeous day for a sea voyage, isn’t it?” Varric stopped in front of them, squinting up at the bright sky. “Curly, I just wanted to make sure you were okay, because, you know, last time you weren’t.”

Cullen tried to temper his anger at the dwarf for the interruption since he meant well. “I’m fine, thank you.”

Sylvie looked between the two of them before settling on Varric. “Why? What happened last time?”

“Nothing,” Cullen rushed to speak first. “The rough waters just made me a little queasy.” He flashed a disapproving look at Varric, who didn’t seem to notice.

Varric snorted. “A little queasy? I think I saw your rear-end more than your face on the entire trip.”

Sylvie stifled a laugh.

Cullen glowered at the Viscount. “Anyway, I’ve taken precautions.” He gestured to his cheek. “Herbs. Seems to be working.”

“Ain’t modern medicine grand?” Varric exclaimed. “Well, since your breakfast is still where it _should_ be, I’m gonna get some writing done. Somehow I got roped into doing another Swords and Shields book, I’ll give you one guess whose doing that was. You kids have fun.” He disappeared below deck.

Cullen and Sylvie smiled at each other before turning to take in the view. The deep aquamarine hue of the water stretched out before them, cut clean in half on the horizon by the true blue sky. The vast wooden hull glided through the rolling waves, it’s pitch negligible as it sped along. He listened to the creaking of the ship, the wind snapping at the sails, and the rushing of the waters around them, and for the first time he could understand how one could fall in love with a life at sea.

He watched her without turning his head, hoping she wouldn’t notice. She looked happy, peaceful, younger. She tilted her head upward and closed her eyes, drinking in the sun’s rays, and he thought then that she might have been at her most beautiful.

An old memory came forward, something he hadn’t thought about since his mind had unraveled after Kinloch Hold.

A contest with Sylvie and the other village children, to see who could hold their breath the longest underneath the lake’s surface. He wasn’t the first to come up for air, but he wasn’t the last, then too much time had passed. He’d been worried, even while the other children laughed and splashed water at each other, until she’d finally emerged like a piston from the murky water, head lifted toward the sun and eyes closed, gasping for air before declaring herself the winner.

A low groan brought him back to the present.

“Oh no,” Sylvie blurted, then her face went white. “I think I’m gonna -”

She clutched the railing and bent over it so violently he feared she might fall into the waters below. Cullen was behind her in an instant, pinning her in place with his body. He felt her retch underneath him as he reached around to grab her hair and pull it away from her face. He stroked her back with his free hand. His heart went out to her; he knew all too well how awful it felt.

When it was over, he helped her to a barrel, sat her down and dabbed her brow with his sleeve. She’d gone pale, and seemed to be looking through him when she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The few crew members milling about paid them no mind, seemingly focused on their duties.

“I’m sorry, I just… One minute I felt fine, then… ugh.” She clutched her stomach.

“Shh, don’t talk,” he said, kneeling beside her. “It’s our curse to bear as Fereldens, I’m afraid.” He plucked the small clump of herbs from his mouth and held it up for her to see. “Do you want mine? I might have a few herbs left in my-”

She grabbed the wad and popped it into her mouth, looking at him miserably. He felt abashed; it was, strangely, the most intimate thing they’d done.

He patted her knee. “Just keep it tucked against your cheek. I’ll fetch you some water, but I’ll need to go below deck. Will you be all right here?”

“Can’t I go with you? I just want to lie down,” she moaned.

“Trust me, it’s better to remain in the fresh air. I’ll bring some cushions. And you’ll, ah, need easy access.”

She gave him a quizzical look that was quickly replaced with alarm, and when her hand flew to her mouth, he all but carried her back to the railing.

***

The herbs were, unfortunately, more of a preventative, and poor Sylvie had spent the rest of their voyage across the Waking Sea alternating between different shades of green and getting cozy with the ship's railing. Cullen did his best to toe the line between looking after her and giving her space; she didn’t seem to like being fussed over. He could absolutely relate.

Once they set foot on dry land, she seemed to trade one ailment for another, her seasickness giving way to a low-grade fever and exhaustion. Though she insisted they press on, she sequestered herself in Varric’s carriage, sleeping most hours of the day.

When they made camp, he made sure she was comfortable before setting his bedroll out underneath the stars, taking advantage of their good fortune with the fair weather. Even though it was her choice to accompany him, Cullen felt responsible all the same, and hoped he could somehow make it up to her when she was herself again.

When Skyhold finally loomed on the horizon, towering and majestic amidst the white and gray blue of the mountains and sky, Cullen was transported back in time. He remembered cresting the cliff behind Tara and Solas, his toes numb from stomping through the snow for hours, and thinking the keep in the distance was nothing more than a cruel mirage. When he’d realized it was indeed very real, he’d almost dropped to his knees and cried with relief. It was an unforgettable moment: Tara tall and magnificent at the fore, after being near death and broken just days ago, leading her people to their true haven.

“There she is!” Varric shouted from a ways behind them. The horses slowed and snorted as Cullen led the way from the main road onto the narrow path that led to Skyhold. Sylvie, who was starting to feel better at last, rode beside him on a glossy black mare.

“It’s absolutely breathtaking,” she said, her eyes lighting up for the first time in days. It warmed Cullen to see it. “Did you say it was elven?”

“According to our research, but it was abandoned for centuries.” Cullen studied her. It looked as if some color was returning to her cheeks. “How are you feeling?”

“Huh?” She tore her eyes from the fortress to look at him. “Oh, much better, thanks. About that… I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”

He frowned. “For what? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“For ruining this trip,” she said bitterly, examining the reigns in her hands. “You’ve been so kind, taking care of me even when I was such a disgusting mess. Traveling is taxing enough without having to deal with a sick person. I’m so embarrassed.”

Cullen faced the path ahead. The dusting snow on the ground gave way to a solid blanket that crunched underneath the horses’ hooves and weighed down the branches on the evergreens that lined the way. “As you’ve heard, I was very ill on the first voyage from Kirkwall.”

“Sounded like you couldn’t keep anything down?”

He lowered his chin. “That’s true, but that wasn’t the only problem I was having.” He paused, wondering if he should continue. “After the Ferelden Circle, I never liked small, enclosed spaces. And the cabins below deck aren’t exactly spacious.”

Sylvie just watched him, waiting for him to continue.

He kept his eyes forward. “I tried, the first night. To sleep. I’m not sure what happened exactly, but I woke up standing at the bow of the ship, drenched in sweat wearing nothing but my knickers with a bloodied hand and panting like I’d just ran a race. I must have screamed, because everyone on the ship was awake—and angry.”

“That must have been awful,” Sylvie said quietly. “Did anyone help you?”

He nodded. “Cassandra saw to me. And Varric. They brought me water, and eventually blankets and clothing when they realized I wouldn’t be returning to my cabin. Not that night. Or any other.”

“You stayed up there the whole trip? Where did you sleep? How did you sleep?”

Cullen shrugged. “I didn’t, not really. I dozed here and there, but I mostly kept my eyes on the horizon during daylight, to mitigate the seasickness. As horrible as that was, it was preferable to being in that cabin again.” He allowed her eyes to find his, still afraid to see pity, but there was only compassion. Of course. He returned his attention to the snowy path.

“I’m better now,” he went on, anticipating her next question. “Although I still find myself waking early and rushing up the stairs. But I’m telling you this so you don’t have to feel embarrassed, or the need to apologize.” He smirked, giving her a sidelong glance. “At least you weren’t losing your lunch _and_ raving like a lunatic in front of people you barely know.”

“Cullen,” she protested, “please don’t say that. It’s perfectly understandable, after what you’ve been through. And it’s obvious Cassandra and Varric care about you, I’m sure they were happy to help.”

“As I am with you,” he said, meeting her gaze.

The rode in silence for a while as the path became steeper, and Cullen noted Sylvie’s demeanor. She seemed melancholy and deep in thought, as if what he’d just confessed troubled her. That just wouldn’t do.

“Since you’re well now,” he said, “I think you can handle this story.”

She lifted her head. “What story?”

He kept his eyes straight ahead as he spoke.

“On the last voyage from Kirkwall, after the first night, I had found a spot above deck. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it was tucked away, behind some barrels and other flotsam. I’d hide there at night and try to at least close my eyes, and pray my stomach would still itself. So one night, I’d actually managed to doze off when I was jarred awake by a woman’s voice. A very drunk woman, I might add.”

 “Go on,” she said, turning in her saddle toward him.      

“So I peer over the barrels and I see this woman—a member of the crew, deckhand or some such—her shirt unbuttoned down to her navel, reeking of Maker knows what sort of liquor and swaying to and fro even though the ship was still. She’s saying _Where is he? Where’s the landlubber?_ over and over, and after a time I realize she’s talking about me.”

Sylvie cocked an eyebrow.

Cullen pressed on. “I hide and try not to make a sound, but of course my foot slips and I knock over something - I don’t even know what it was - and she finds me.”

Sylvie nudged her horse closer. “Oh no! So what happened?”

“She crashes down next to me, grinning from ear to ear with half her teeth rotted out, and says _You and me, let’s have some fun!_ She smelled even worse up close, like spirits and other foul things I won’t mention, and I’m already ill. The next thing I know, before I can stop myself, I’m getting sick all over her lap!”

“No!” Sylvie let loose a throaty, beautiful belly laugh that echoed throughout the valley and, in turn, his soul.  “What did she do?”

“She looks down at the mess, looks me straight in the eye and says, _Stay put, I’ll be right back,_ and leaves.”

She laughed again, holding onto the mare’s neck for support. Cullen couldn’t help but laugh along with her - it was contagious. Music to his ears.

“What’s so funny up there?” Varric shouted from the rear of the caravan. They ignored him.

“Did she come back?” she giggled.

“No, thank the Maker. I presume she went below and slept it off.”

“Well, that’s one way to fend off unwanted admirers,” she said. “Such a heartbreaker, you are. Just like when we were children.”

Cullen swiveled on his saddle. “What do you mean?”

“Oh, where should I start? You had many admirers.” She tapped her chin and looked upward. “Let’s see, there was Cora -”

“Nonsense,” Cullen interrupted, “she fancied Branson.”

“Only because you ignored the poor girl,” Sylvie replied. “It was obvious to everyone besides you that she had a massive crush.”

Cullen frowned. He remembered Cora, pretty and nice, but he didn’t recall her paying him any special attention.

Sylvie was searching her memory again.

“Oh - and then there was Lottie. Remember her?”

Cullen grimaced. That one he remembered all too well. A wholly unpleasant girl who’d gotten in the habit of literally chasing after him, always trying to plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek. Fortunately, after a summer of many failed attempts, she’d given up and moved on to another poor boy.

“I can see by your expression that the answer is yes. Who else…” She tapped her chin again. “There was Molly, Samuel’s cousin whose name I can’t recall, Lucy, Thomas - poor boy would just make the biggest moon eyes at you when you weren’t looking - Mr. Wilfred’s scarecrow, the stone golem, the fish in the lake…“

“All right, you’ve made your point,” Cullen growled. She snickered in reply. He noticed that she’d left herself off of that list, but truth be told, he wasn’t sure he’d noticed her in that way, either. Not then.

She pointed at him, giggling. “That face, when you’re annoyed - it’s _priceless_! And adorable.”

A low-hanging branch topped with snow was coming within reach, and Cullen saw an opportunity. When Sylvie’s gaze drifted elsewhere, he reached out and scraped the nettled branch with his gloved hand, quickly packed it into a large ball, and launched it square into her shoulder. The impact sent chunks of fluffy snow flying up onto the side of her face and into her mass of curls.

She inhaled sharply, her mouth formed in a perfect _O_ from the indignity. When she wiped the snow from her cheek and looked back at him, her green eyes were full of fire.

“You are _so_ going to get it, Rutherford!”

“Is that right?” he teased, riding high and pleased with himself. “I’d like to see you try.”

She shook out the last of the snow from her cloak and curls, her voice taking on an eerie pleasantry. “Oh, I’m going to bide my time. You won’t know when, or where it will be, but I’ll get you back. On that, you have my word.”

He steered his horse closer to her, leaned over and gave her his best glare, his lips curled into a crooked grin. “I’m shaking in my boots.” He gave the reigns a quick snap and trotted ahead, still grinning to himself. 

It was funny, how easily people could slip back into their old roles even after many years apart, and how it could feel so comfortable, so right.

They rode the rest of the way in warm silence, exchanging amused looks now and then, until they finally reached the approach to the lower gates of Skyhold. Cullen craned his neck and peered up at the great bridge, with only one unexpected thought running through his mind.

He was home.


End file.
